


The Crow

by J_Antebellum



Category: Krashlyn - Fandom, USWNT - Fandom, Women's Association Football | Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Autism, F/F, Makaton, Superheroes, avenger - Freeform, based on real life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: The idea for this fanfic came when I was a Teaching Assistant for children with autism, inspired by one of my students, 8yo J, who directly inspired one of the main characters of this story with his sweetness, his good heart, and the light in his eyes. This story is for all the single mothers, specially does who are alone with a child with special needs, and is the story about how a super mother like these decided to become a literal superhero for her child, and in the process, she might be getting more than she bargained for.
Relationships: Ashlyn Harris/Ali Krieger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Out of the nest

**Author's Note:**

> To J, I know you don't read and you don't talk, sometimes you get a bit aggressive when you're upset, but I hope somehow you'll know how much you inspired me, how much love I hold for you, how much you taught me and how big your heart is. I hope wherever you are, you also know that you're a superhero.

**Chapter 1: Out of the nest.**

It had all begun on a cold winter's night in Orlando, Florida, just a couple days after Valentine's Day. Ashlyn Harris was about to leave her flat to work, having a warm shower and getting dressed. Her partner, Zahara, had gone out shopping and should be back already, and their nearly four-year-old son, James, was sleeping peacefully in his bed, so Ashlyn wasn't going anywhere until her partner was back to take care of their boy. It was late now, they had already had dinner and Zahara had been about to go to bed when she had suddenly remembered they were out of eggs, milk, and nappies, which James still used at night, so she had rushed to get the essentials while Ashlyn prepared for work.

Ashlyn had insisted she could get everything in the morning, when she returned from her job as a security guard, but Zahara had pointed out she could need nappies in the middle of the night if James, who had special needs, got the ones he was wearing all dirty. It shouldn't be long anyway, Ashlyn could wait. The little 24h store was only around the corner, not even five minutes from their flat in down-town Orlando.

“Right...” Ashlyn threw her long platinum hair back into a ponytail and buttoned up her uniform shirt, securing the gun in her holster and looking around at the empty flat. She grabbed her mobile phone and texted her girlfriend again, hurrying her up. She didn't want to be late to work. Then, Ashlyn walked through a beige living room full of decorations and family photographs, and walked into her son's bedroom. The little boy was the living image of his birth mother, Zahara, with dark wavy hair that in the sixteen months since Ashlyn had first met him was growing lighter and wavier, and warm brown eyes, now closed, exposing long dark eyelashes. James was deeply autistic, and it was sometimes a challenge, but he was the sweetest, gentlest boy around and Ashlyn had pretty much loved him from the start. “Sweet dreams handsome... you're my favourite.” She leaned to kiss his sleeping face, tucking the blankets around him, and made sure he had his necessities in place.

At last, Ashlyn heard a gunshot downstairs in the street, whose sound ricocheted across the small flat, and stood up in alert mode. She had to check it out, it was her duty, but her son... running, Ashlyn stormed out of her apartment and banged on her neighbour's door. Mrs Daly was an old, kind, loving lady who adored them and spoiled James rotten, and they often let her be his nanny, which she loved. She had been a special needs teacher for autistic children, so if she was around, there was nothing for them to worry about, not to mention James adored her, and anybody who knows autistic children knows their trust in you is directly related to how easy they'll be to manage.

“Hello darling, did you hear that?” Mrs Daly appeared, with scared blue eyes, wrapping her housecoat tight around herself. “It sounded like... gunshots.”

“I know, can you stay with Jamie so I can check on it? He's sleeping, but just in case he wakes up and needs anything. Oh, and please call the police?”

“Sure!” Mrs Daly turned to grab her flat keys and closed the door before rushing to Ashlyn's flat.

That left Ashlyn free to run down the stairs the three floors to the street, her hands already taking out her gun and keeping it low. She rushed to the street, coming out into the narrow square where their building entrance was. There, on a pool of blood, was a body, illuminated in the dark by just a couple of street lamps. She immediately pulled out her mobile phone and called 911.

“There's a victim on the ground, in a pool of blood. I think they were shot, I heard a shotgun,” Ashlyn said into the phone before quickly saying the address and hanging up. She then quickly went to the victim and felt her heart sink to her feet. It was Zahara, gasping for air with her torso covered in red blood and a shopping bag on the ground, its continents scattered all over. “Baby! What happened?” she knelt, quickly removing her uniform shirt to press it onto the wound. It was freezing cold.

“A-Ash... baby...”

“You're going to be okay, uh? Breathe for me... it seems like the bullet stayed inside, so don't move, so it doesn't move around,” Ashlyn pressed her lips against her sweaty cold forehead. “You'll be okay, I've got you.”

“B-babe...” one of her blood-soaked hands pressed against Ashlyn's and her blue eyes searched hers with urgency. “T-take care of... Jamie...”

“He'll be just fine, he's with Mrs Daly and I'll take him to go with you to the hospital,” Ashlyn said. “It'll be all right. Who did this to you sweetie?”

“Wolfie... he wanted... drugs... was h-high... t'was an... accident...”

“If it was an accident he'd be here to face what he's done,” her girlfriend was paler every second. Zahara had a past as a drug addict, and so did Ashlyn, but Zahara had actually been selling it too. Both of them had now been drug-free for over a year, but because Zahara had been a seller, she was still contacted often by desperate addicts and old friends, who sometimes had angry outbursts when she said she had nothing to sell, and so Ashlyn had intervened more than once to get them to leave her alone. Ashlyn had only seen Wolfie once in her life, a long time before.

“I... love...”

Ashlyn fixed her eyes on her, hearing sirens coming closer, and despite the dimly light, saw her blue eyes fix on the sky and then she became very still for a moment before her entire body relaxed, her face gently fell to a side due to gravity, and her hand on Ashlyn's lost force.

“Zahara. Babe, come on, it's not funny,” Ashlyn's heart drummed faster as she began to fully panic. “Zahara! Love! Look at me! I love you, you can't leave me! Look at me!”

But there was too much blood and Ashlyn knew there was nothing to do.

The love of her life was gone.

**. . .**

**25 months later**

**. . .**

“Brrr!” the little boy pretended his toy car ran through the 'roads' the street walls had become in his imagination, while one of his tiny, chubby hands held to her mother's big hand.

Ashlyn smiled down at him, loving his happy moments, as they walked to the school. They finally arrived into the school hall and Ashlyn smiled at the boy's Teaching Assistant. Every class had one lead teacher and eight students, all of whom were assigned to a different Teaching Assistant each term, who worked with them very closely and was pretty much the pupil's shadow. Ashlyn liked the system, it was nice.

“Hi there,” Ashlyn told the TA.

“Good morning! And Good Morning to you too, James! How was the weekend?” the TA knelt to be at his height and used Makaton sign language to greet him.

“He was okay, only had one tantrum because we had to cut bath time short last night,” Ashlyn knelt next to him and used Makaton sign language, as always, to support her communications with him. “Sweetie, Mama's going to work. I'll see you later at home.” She put together the tips of her fingers making some sort of triangle to signal home. “I love you.” She kissed his cheek, and he continued to play with his car. “Now it's time for school, okay? You have to put your car away. Five, four, three, two, one... give me your car.” She had to count to prepare him for a change of activity, and this time he gave away the toy without a fuss.

“Have a good day,” the TA said looking at Ashlyn and taking James' hand. Then she frowned, seeing a large bruise covering Ashlyn's eyebrow that she hadn't noticed before. “Are you okay?

“Oh, yeah,” Ashlyn smiled small. “I'm a personal trainer, sometimes I get accidental hits with client's clumsiness with the machines. It's fine.”

“Okay, well, take care.”

“You too. Bye, have a good day!” Ashlyn waved goodbye at her son and smiled despite his absolute lack of acknowledgement to the fact that she was leaving. She preferred that to the days he cried not wanting to go to school, and she kept her focus on the big smile he was going to give her when she picked him up at the end of the day.

Ashlyn checked her watch as she left the school. She was going late to meet with a new VIP client, a professional soccer player who had sought her services after injuring her knee and needing surgery. She had done physical rehabilitation and was doing well, but had lost shape after several weeks without much activity, and now needed to recover in record time for the NWSL season, that was about to begin.

She took a bus, and appeared at the sports' centre twenty minutes later, rushing to the trainers' lockers to get ready before climbing the stairs two at a time to the personal training room, by which door awaited her client, a beautiful brunette with incredible brown eyes that made Ashlyn forget her words for a moment.

“Hi,” the client smiled shyly. She was wearing sports clothes, the highest and tightest ponytail Ashlyn had ever seen, and her sports' bag. “You must be Ashlyn,” Ashlyn nodded slowly, her brain slowly going back to work. She was really stunning. “Uhm... sorry, do I have anything on my face?” the woman finally asked, finding Ashlyn's intent stare a bit awkard.

That made Ashlyn snap out of her trance and blush heavily.

“Yes, sorry, hi, I'm Ashlyn, yes. Which means you're Ali, right?”

“Right,” Ali offered her a hand and they smiled at each other, shaking hands. “So?”

“So?”

“Do I have something on my face?” Ali added teasingly, smirking. Ashlyn blushed even harder and shook her head nervously.

“No, no, you look great. I'm just the dumb person who stares. So let's begin training, uh?”

Ali giggled and Ashlyn chuckled, slamming her pass against the door's reader and guiding her inside, holding the door open for her.

“Thank you, such a gentlewoman.” Ali looked around the big, spacious room. One wall was entirely covered in mirrors, the one in front had mirrors in the middle and big windows at each side, another had push-up bars, and another had shelves with equipment. The floor was a pistachio green carpet, and it was a well-illuminated room. “Wow, this looks great.”

“Yes, it's nice. By the way, I'm sorry I'm...” Ashlyn checked the clock in one of the walls. “Five minutes late, I was just dropping my son off at school and must've missed the earlier bus.”

“It's okay. You have a boy? How old is he?”

“Uh, he'll turn six in a couple of weeks,” replied Ashlyn, putting her things away and sitting on a bench with Ali.

“That's cute,” she smiled softly at her and Ashlyn returned the smile before setting down to business.

“Right so, I sent you the proposed exercise schedule in your email, what do you think?”

“It's great, perfect to get fit again. Just one thing, Ashlyn... I was wondering if we could put more squats in it?”

“More squats? Sure, why?”

“Well...” Ali blushed and Ashlyn raised her eyebrows, curious. “I don't want to have a shaggy ass.”

Ashlyn bit her lip to avoid laughing and in the end just side smiled, full of amusement.

“Trust me Ali, you don't have to worry about that.”

Her ass was the least shaggy thing Ashlyn had ever seen. Ali sniggered a little and then bit her lip, wondering whether it was okay to make enquiries.

“So, Ashlyn, uh...” she pointed to her face. “Are you okay? We can meet another day if you don't feel up for it, that looks painful.”

“It's okay, don't worry. So, let's begin!”

  
  



	2. Ready to fly

**Chapter 2: Ready to fly.**

“Hi sweetie! Did you have fun?” Ashlyn beamed from ear to ear seeing her son running to her as she picked him up at the school. The TA that was with him smiled as they hugged and then at Ashlyn.

“He was very good today, no tantrums, no dysregulated behaviour... just great.”

“Awesome, thank you. Say bye bye Jamie!”

Ashlyn motioned for her son to gesture for goodbye with Makaton and after much insistence, he did so. It was important to insist sometimes, or he wouldn't engage with his environment as much as it was necessary.

Mother and son walked home for twenty minutes, James yawning as he grew tired, and humming one same melody over and over, that Ashlyn identified as the ABC song, so she sang it it with him in hopes of teaching him the lyrics. He spoke very little, almost nothing, and when he did he often articulated badly, making him a little hard to understand unless you were used to it and knew what he meant, so she was really trying to get him to learn his ABCs with their proper sounds to see if that made any difference in his general speaking.

With James, routines were key. So for two months after his mother's assassination, Ashlyn had endured staying in the same flat, seeing where she bled out every single day, so he could keep all his routines, so nothing else had to change for him. But then, Mrs Daly had died of a heart attack due to her age, and it had been too much. Ashlyn had then decided they should move, and by then could afford a small house, so they had moved a bit farther from down-town, two apples away, where Ashlyn never had to pass by her old neighbourhood and where Zahara's old friends would, hopefully, never find them. Their new house was in a quiet family area, with a small garden and a small swimming pool, so Ashlyn could teach James to swim. Now Ashlyn didn't have a regular babysitter as easily as Mrs Daly was, but she had gotten reacquainted with an old friend, Whitney, who was very good with James and also lived in the area, so whenever Ashlyn needed, which was about four hours a day every day, she'd come.

Now, James had had lunch at the school, so Ashlyn played with him for a while, did attention autism exercises with him, which actually wasn't really about exercise and more about paying intense attention to him and bonding, and then when it became clear he was falling asleep, Ashlyn called Whitney to come over, and put him to bed.

“Mama will be home soon, poppet,” Ashlyn whispered, tucking him in bed and kissing the top of his head. “She just has something important to do. I love you.”

Unbeknownst to everyone, Ashlyn had spent about twenty one months now, give or take, secretly working in the evenings, although it was a job she wasn't paid for. She fought crime. She had a costume, an alias, and every weekday she went out once her son was cosy at home and she had spent good quality time with him, and fought any crime she encountered, secretly helping the police, and then during the weekends, she'd go out at night on Saturdays. She couldn't go out as much as she wanted to fight crime, or for any other reason, because she did have a special needs little child who needed her, and also because Whitney wasn't always available, but she'd always leave for three our four hours, just enough to frequent the places the drug addicts loved most, looking for the one who had killed her girlfriend over two years before, and whom police had never found.

Whitney was the only one who knew about her secret life, because she was her best friend in the whole world. They had actually met back in university when both studied in North Carolina, and she had picked her pieces up after her girlfriend's murder. Whitney had found Ashlyn's current house in what now was their neighbourhood, where she lived with her husband Ryan, and was always there for them, so Ashlyn trusted her deeply.

“Shouldn't a doctor check that out?” Whitney commented sitting on Ashlyn's bed and watching as her friend changed, pointing at her facial bruise, which Ashlyn had actually gotten on her nightly adventures.

“I'm fine, I can see normally.”

Ashlyn had had to improvise her incognito costume in a low cost way, so it was nothing fancy, but it protected her, kept her warm at night, aided her in fight and kept her appearance hidden, which was its mission. She had black waterproof mountain boots that also covered her ankles, and that added an extra two centimetres of height, to make her actual height harder to tell in case the police kept track of her for investigations, which by now they definitely did. Then she had long mountain pants, also black, with a customized belt where she kept a Swiss Army Knife, a small lantern, a long thick rope with a hook to climb to places if needed, always safely kept tied forming a circle and securely held to the belt, a larger knife, and small night vision binoculars. She wore normal clothes from the waist up, depending on the weather, but always something light that made fighting easy, and always covered with a thin turtle-necked black jumper. A sports bra made sure her small breasts seemed even smaller, so that in the night it was hard to tell she was a woman, again, for identification purposes, and she also had a leather mid length coat, usually open for mobility, because it was cold at night and also, it was a gift from Zahara and her lucky charm, customized by her former girlfriend, who had stitched a large black crow on the back of it, of a tone darker than the coat, so it was visible. She was now putting her protective knee pads and shoulder pads over her clothes, and moving on to the last parts of her costume.

To cover her head, she had bought a WoSport tactical helmet, and to finish off, she had a bulletproof vest and soft, thin black tactile gloves covered with fighting gloves that left the tip of her fingers free.

“So how do I look?” Ashlyn asked at last, when she had completed the long process of getting ready.

“Warm, don't you asphyxiate?” Whitney asked with a smirk.

“I do but it keeps me safe and no one can tell it's Ashlyn,” she said, her voice muffled by the helmet. “I'll be back in about three hours, maybe four, okay? If you need anything.”

“I'll call.”

“Exactly. Thanks Whitney.”

“You're welcome,” Whitney sighed sadly and saw her go through the back door to the back yard, where she used a small ladder to climb over the fence and then run through a small park to the street.

Ashlyn was always in the same spots, spots where drugs could frequently be found, where drug addicts crowded the streets. She was looking for the man that she was pretty sure had killed her girlfriend, but she hadn't seen him in years, and wasn't sure he'd be in the same city. Still, she had to find him. She didn't know his actual name, all she knew was what Zahara and her gang had told her over the years; he was known as Wolfie, he was brunette, in his late twenties or early thirties, and he had no family whatsoever, and no one knew where he lived. He was a loner, and as much as Ashlyn had given the police descriptions of him, her memory of him was so weak, as she had been high and saw him very few times, that the police hadn't found him. But Ashlyn knew if she saw him, she'd know.

Now she was hanging out on the rooftop of an abandoned building that occupied a corner of a narrow street in front of a club where she had seen some of Zahara's old friends hang out sometimes. She had beaten more than one 'old friend' asking for Wolfie, but he seemed to have been gulped by the Earth, and no one had seen him in about as long as they had last seen Zahara.

Ashlyn's hazel eyes were glued on the street when, pretty late at night, she saw five figures drunkly laughing as they exited the club, and her eyes widened when she recognized them. They were Ali Krieger, Christen Press, Sydney Leroux, Crystal Dunn and Megan Rapinoe. All of them belonged to the US Women's National Soccer Team, and Ashlyn was a big fan of the team, not to mention Ali was her client. And also, both Ali and Sydney played for the Orlando Pride in the National Women's Soccer League, which Ashlyn also followed.

She watched attentively and snorted a laugh as Ali tripped with herself and made her friends laugh harder. The group was clearly drunk and unconscious of their danger, so Ashlyn quietly used her rope to descend down the wall to the back alley, and then watched them from a dark corner as they entered a narrow street. Unbeknownst to them, two guys had just gotten up, eyeing them, and Ashlyn saw one of them had a pocket knife in his fist, that shun when the light from a lone street lamp reflected on it.

Still, Ashlyn couldn't just jump them without real reasons, so she waited, following silently hiding in the dark, until one of them made a move, and grabbed Sydney's forearm from behind.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions anybody? don't be shy!


	3. Getting closer

**Chapter 3: Getting closer.**

Ashlyn had jumped on the criminals in a second after the girls screamed, and both of them pulled out knives, but Ashlyn didn't pull out hers; she never did, unless it was absolutely mandatory. Instead, she fought with her fists and bodies, and only when she saw the girls standing in shock did she turn to them.

“Ali!” she roared, her voice deeper and muffled by the helmet. “Take them and go!”

Ali seemed to react better to her direct approach and nodded, quickly grabbing the girls and running away. Ashlyn made one of the guys stab the other before breaking his nose and then running away, climbing back to the rooftop using the rope she had left there, and then hurrying from rooftop to rooftop, using emergency stairs and rooftops, until she had made it for a distance long enough to dare to go back down to the roads.

**. . .**

In the morning, Ashlyn woke up with James between her arms in her bed. He often wandered off to her bed at night and, as Ashlyn was terrible when she was half asleep, all she could do was move over and pat the bed for him to climb on. Despite the popular belief that children with autism don't like affection or being touched, Ashlyn had found out through experience that this wasn't completely true. It was a good general rule, but actually, there were lots autistic people who liked to be touched only in certain ways. Some, like James, were very affectionate and liked hugs, and would come to get them. Others liked their hands squeezed, or their heads massaged, or could be soothed during a moment of dysregulated behaviour if their forearms or backs were gently pressured by someone else. Other children would even demand feet rubs. The only true, firm, strict rule about autistic people was that each person was their own absolute world, pretty much like with everyone else, and what worked with one may not work with another. Each had their own personal challenges.

With James, Ashlyn was lucky because he was very affectionate and he was very good at asking what he wanted, even if he often wouldn't speak and would instead use what was called a PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System) book, a little book full of symptoms that could be pasted together via Velcro, forming three-symbol sentences or four-symbol sentences. James was now on four symbols, since September, as he was evolving nicely. He had green-framed symbols of people, with his face, his Mum's, at home they even had symbols of Whitney's face, and then simple yellow-framed symbols such as give, pour or open, followed by red-framed symbols of things, such as crackers, apple, water, door, bed, to finally add an adjective purple-framed symbol, such as numbers (1, 2, 3...), big or small, square or circle, or colours. He had another PECS book in his classroom with other symbols that they used in school, and it was a huge aid to communicate with him. James was also a very active person, but only in terms of needing to be doing _something_ , even if he did it sitting quietly in a corner, so that was easy for Ashlyn. He was the best eater of his class, and he was also fearless and, like many autistic children, absolutely unconscious of the dangers of the world, so he had to be watched closely because he may walk around edges without thinking he could fall, burn himself, cut himself with a knife, or when they went to adventure playground, which he loved, he was prone to falling by trying to do things without any fear or sense of danger. But he was also sweet, had the prettiest of smiles, was always excited when in class it was 'time to say hello' and he got to shake hands, wave or high five with a classmate, and was very very sensitive, particularly when it came to sounds. It was good when he loved music, and shit when he became dysregulated over a hinge that sounded too much or a loud neighbour, or a dysregulated loud classmate.

And when he was dysregulated, he was a nightmare. He forgot his ability to talk, and would be left with only one option to communicate what was upsetting him; hitting. Fortunately he only waved his hands violently, which could result in accidental slapping, but he didn't kick or bite, he didn't grab you violently, and he didn't try to hit you to hurt you. He'd just bang his head on the walls or furniture, bang the back of his hands, often resulting in bruises, or hit the closest adult slapping whatever part of them he could reach. And he did it so hard, in such a frenzy of tears and sobbing, that it'd actually hurt, and it was very painful to see him suffer like that. But fortunately, even though it had intensely happened the months after Zahara's murder when he didn't understand her absence, now he was used to it and didn't do it so much, only very occasionally when something really bothered him, like a persistent stomachache or someone who was being too loud, or when he got desperate at the adults' lack of understanding over what he wanted.

Ashlyn stuck to routines. She got up first, made coffee and breakfast, had it all ready for James when he got up, always in the same sleepy mood as Ashlyn. She sat him at the dining table and gave him the PECS book while putting in front a glass of water and a couple bottles of juice.

“Choose, water, apple juice or orange juice?” putting the symbols in front of the objects, Ashlyn made sure he understood what each thing was. He pointed to the water and she did the Makaton gesture for water. “Water. Wa-ter, say it.” She tried. James hit the symbol with the tip of his finger more insistently, and she smiled kindly. “Speak, wa-ter.”

“Woor.” He said. Ashlyn chuckled and nodded.

“It'll do... for now. We'll work on it.” She left the glass water and picked up the juices, putting them back in the fridge and grabbing a variety of fruit, a slice of bread, a pancake and muffins, which she brought to him. “Okay, now, choose toast, pancake or muffins.”

The process repeated time and time again until he had chosen a pancake, an apple for afterwards, and toppings for his pancake. Ashlyn only used the symbols for the things she currently had in the house, and thankfully James didn't usually make a fuss asking for things they didn't have at the moment. She had an entire shelf full of albums of symbols organized alphabetically, by type, and by frame colour, so Ashlyn could always store there whichever symbols weren't being used. And on one wall, there was a large rectangular board from as tall as James' hand could reach to the height of his hips, with a long Velcro in the middle, and a series of symbols pasted on it every night for the next day's activities, so that now James had grabbed the breakfast symbol and matched it on a small Velcro in the kitchen, but then he had brushing teeth, brushing hair, getting ready, watching TV, toilet and going to school, which then was followed when he returned by other tasks. Some tasks would even lead to subsequent steps lists with Velcro, like when they'd cook something and Ashlyn had to make symbols of it, step by step, and put them in a green and red board. Green were all the steps in order, and as he did them, he moved them to the right, the red side. It was tedious, it took ages to plan everything and sort it out, and it was a continuous learning process for both of them, but they did the same things in school and Ashlyn knew it was worth the effort. It worked with James, it made him more independent, it made him more _capable_ and it took some stress off Ashlyn's worries about what he'd do without her.

Ashlyn ate whatever he hadn't chosen, and paid him her full attention while they ate together. It was the most hanging out time they'd have until four, when she'd pick him up for school, and it didn't matter if she was tired, if she had cramps, if she was sleepy, she'd still wake the heck up to give him her full attention.

James _loved_ food. He'd smile at her while sharing with her, offering her whatever he was about to bite, and she'd smile grabbing a bite and making the loudest hums of 'this is absolutely delicious' to encourage him to eat it.

“More,” he said and gestured, when his plate was empty. Ashlyn and his teachers would often joke he was a never-ending well, he could always eat a bit more.

“Want half an apple?” Ashlyn offered, cutting her apple in half. He nodded and grabbed it, giving it a bite. Again, he hummed the ABC song, and his finger moved over the shark shapes in the tablecloth, entertained with them. And when he looked so innocent, so vulnerable, and so _good_ , Ashlyn could feel herself getting emotional, reaching out to caress his hair for as long as he'd let her, and praying internally that the world was kind to him today, that nobody got mad and they were understanding if James got upset and hit them, that he'd grow up to be a capable, happy adult who didn't need anyone's help and could live a full life. “I love you Jamie.”

Ashlyn then had to assist him through bathroom routine, make sure he matched every symbol without exception, insist he said and gestured for the things he needed, and finally when he was in front of the TV, always watching something educational orientated for Autistic children from the hundreds of things Ashlyn had bothered to find and catalogue, it was Ashlyn's time to get ready as fast as possible, and tidy up the house as fast as possible too. She made sure James would tidy up his things, but even if he brought them to the kitchen sink and threw to the trash whatever he had to throw, she had to wash things as to not return to chaos when she left work.

“James,” Ashlyn called his attention while grabbing a little card that said 'Now' 'Next' 'Later' with three symbols below, and walked to him. “I'm going to turn the TV off. Five, four, three, two... one... it's time to turn the TV off.” She turned the TV off and squatted in front of him. “Now looking,” she put the card in front of his eyes and pointed to the symbols. “Now is time to go to school. Next it's time for class. Later is time to go home. Okay? Let's go to school.”

She let him match the go to school symbol on the door before shoving the card in her work bag and grabbing his own bag, helping him put it on before they had to leave.

  
  


  
  



End file.
